


Justo como era

by AkireMG



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Hozier is a hell of a writer my dudes, I guess????, Ian's POV, Kinda, M/M, Song: As It Was (Hozier), Song: Movement (Hozier), Song: Sunlight (Hozier), Songfic, his last album is soooo good, look... i don't even know, this has no structure whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkireMG/pseuds/AkireMG
Summary: Thirty moments Ian's mind has trouble remembering.Post-Season 10
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Kudos: 12





	Justo como era

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs*  
> i'm honestly just posting this because it has been collecting dust on my drafts for weeks

  1. Hielo



A light touch. His eyelashes flutter. There's no sound when everything's so soft against the skin.

Fingertips on his cheek. Delicate. Slow breath against his neck. Even. He feels it.

Warm, solid, filling his chest with that that he could never find away from here. Back in place, feeling right, the static fading into clear images and sound.

He looks at his eyes.

There's nothing to see.

  1. Secreto



In the dark corner where only he can spot it.

Hidden in plain view. Mocking. The colored lights confuse him. Two smiles that shouldn't be there.

Warmth between his arms, moving to some song's unknown tempo. It snakes around his throat. Cold. Almost heavy.

White from head to toe. So different. Words muttered, always distant. It's barely distracting.

There.

In the corner of the room.

  1. Espejo



Pale.

Veins following a path he's memorized by now.

The shaky letters saying nothing when going through his lungs. This is the loudest it's ever been. A press of lips upon his shoulder.

Smooth against him. Lights coming from every angle. Red. Pulling him in effortlessly. A black and gold line of life. He's so good.

He turns around.

The flowers have withered.

  1. Tintero. 



It pierces the skin with no mercy.

Every little point burns and warns. This seems to be the way, and he only realizes it wasn't his when he's already crossed it. He wasted it. He knows it wasn't worth it.

Uncomfortable heat both in his memory and now. He's here, but he doesn't know what that means or where ‘here’ is. A strange illusion. Grass kissing his neck. Fire consuming and keeping him whole.

Resting.

5.Nostalgia.

Bang.

  1. Sepia.



He has this dream where the blue still seems to be real and the black and whites are more fragile than anywhere else.

He stays in the middle, unmoving, unresponsive. A pebble on his chest. Water under his head. Dirt between his fingers. He hears.

Sand inside his shoes. He can't take his feet out. His muscles are getting tired. He needs to move. Go there. To him. His lungs stopped hours ago.

His arms aren't nearly long enough. He tries. Reaches. Empty.

Blood starts to spill.

  1. Olvido. 



Two syllables. Two times. Falling. Trial and error that leads him nowhere. A failure beyond words. He unraveled and crashed. His safe place was long gone into summer and freedom.

Not alone, not really, but so lonely. He felt it all over. In his aching mouth. On his hardened chest. In that little, insignificant crack that went from his wrists to his collarbones.

Forgotten.

  1. Travesura.



Wrong.

He was supposed to not be like this.

Just like her, he thinks, and it doesn't sound as bad. That's not a good sign. He's about to spiral.

Do it. Why not? He did. Before. It's all cloudy and strange, but he knows he did. There were punches to prove it. Recorded confession that will not be deleted because never again will they be true.

He lost.

  1. Mordida



Delicious. The juncture where neck and shoulder meet. Hard pulse, strong muscle, smooth skin. Just there it feels like living. Breathing.

Below that he chokes. The smoke tries to asphyxiate him. He fights. That's what he is. No more. No less. And then he finds himself beaten bloody by the survivors.

He won't ever win when it's against them.

They survived him already.

  1. Corset. 



Four.

On his hips. Pressure. His groin. Heat and slick. Down, back and forward. Never up. Just a touch of that something he stumbled upon on accident. Around him. Above him.

Two.

Bruised knees. He's lucky he didn't get his kneecaps busted.

A step at a time when he needs a thousand a second.

White streaks of that tedious bunch of almost nothing. It's hard to remember and harder to care.

Lifeline keeping him on the ground.

Gone again.

  1. Tempestad.



Running down his legs. It draws a tree in the inside of his thigh.

Smirking.

The end gripped tightly in his hand. More than ready. Nothing to fear when there's no debt.

Come on. It'll be better if it doesn't go any further. Enough. Ink swirling on his chest. All the same. Again. The fog so dense it suffocates.

They will be done for after the first try.

  1. Lujuria.



Spread open.

Feast.

A sweet taste sticking to the roof of his mouth. Sour on his throat. Its smell turned into an impenetrable cocoon. Electrifying blue running up his arms, his palms numb. A shift.

Lover. Deeper. Harder. More of everything he could never master. A pull. It exhausts him, shoulders tense, legs hugging him. The softness keeps him captivated. Not safe, but the closest he'll ever come to that when those lips are red.

Further apart. Loose-limbed. Fleshy curves where his fingers and teeth dig into. Not a single bruise.

He tried.

  1. Pies 



Three pair of shoes.

A couple and an intruder. Just there, smiling, his hand curling around a husband's waist. Not hiding like before, but just as mocking as it was that time. Look, he seems to say, look at how much he wants me.

He asks sweetly, that little detail he wishes he didn't notice the first time. Something is off. It has been for ages, he now realizes. The promise around his neck weights him down, chained to the place he happily (stupidly) chose.

What a mistake.

But then again, no one needs know.

  1. Sangre 



Bittersweet.

They say it was the infection.

He knows it was anything but.

  1. Poema



He's always lacked the words.

But he is really the best he could have ever had.

  1. Caballo 



Sickly.

Deteriorating ever so slowly.

A curse, some whisper. Bad luck, most say.

What they all agree on who’s to blame.

It's true; nodding, careless, so easy. He has a terrible husband; pitying, shrugging, helpless.

  1. Estropicio.



Chaos.

They shout. Blame. A long, long list of reasons that keep them going. Love would be too easy. All the tangible things are way cheaper than they care for.

Do it. Why not? He did it before. Taunting. It's foggy and dark, but there where bruises to prove it. He looked into his eyes and they were full. There was so much to see.

He can't believe how much has changed since then. Now 'then' doesn't feel like it really happened. It was a dream, maybe, and he's forgotten the details.

C'mon. Do it.

Challenge. A dare. A fucking coward that won't even admit to what everyone in the room already knows he did.

He won't.

  1. Lirios.



He thought it was the same kind of petals.

Granted, it has never been a trait of his to perceive the tiny details. It's not surprising he confused them. The potion is all wrong now. Not the right petals; totally wasted time.

Starting again may work, even if it's a small chance.

But who said love was easy?

  1. Medias. 



Up to his midthigh. Not something anyone would expect of him. White, but not whiter than the skin it covers. Soft to the touch, and still not as soft as that beautiful pair of legs his mouth knows every inch of.

The black heels look deadly. A broken ankle. Maybe a fractured skull. It depends on how he's feeling today. Very good, if that gorgeous fucking smile says anything about his mood.

Graceful steps. His hips to eye level. Pale and smooth. His eyes enjoy it. The rest of him goes wild when he feels him under his tongue. Whatever it is (whatever _he_ is), it is worth it a million times.

He wonders what he'll do to him tonight.

"Tell me."

  1. Atardecer.



Husband. Husband. Husband.

What a burden you are, oh dear husband.

  1. Sabana.



Blood. Shocking. Big dots at best. Splatters at worst. He should have seen it coming. It was so obvious this is how it'd end.

Please. Sorry. Does that even matter? The blade won't repair his flesh either way. One-way ticket only. He made his decision. Stupid, as he so fundamentally is, but his at least.

Sirens.

  1. Bufandas.



One more time.

One more time and he's done.

  1. Anillo. 



He swirls them around his finger. Waiting again. Eternal. Agonizing. He thought this was over, but here he is again. Surrounded by that smell. That pitying face asking for his name. A river he must clean up before tomorrow; before it stays forever.

"You can go see him."

When is it supposed to get better?

  1. Gotera.



It's not fine.

He won't ever get used to it.

His uneven heartbeat.

It won't ever be fine.

  1. Subterráneo.



Waking up next to the sun.

  1. Perdón. 



Unnecessary.

  1. Hambre.



Breathe.

In. Out.

Slow. Deep.

He's got this. He can. Hear the air. The trees sing a peaceful melody. He can. Slow. Deep.

Focus.

  1. Carne. 



Around his waist. Warm and slick. A perfect tempo.

"Ian."

He sometimes remembers. No shadow. No intruder. The shining lights while they had their first dance. More couples dancing. His arms tightening around his husband, holding him as close as he was capable of.

Mickey.

Mickey holding him back. Soft and comforting. Finally. That ugly bruise making him look like a dream. His husband. Matching gold and black rings touching when they intertwined their fingers.

Their wedding.

No fog.

  1. Obsesión.



"I love you... I love you."

  1. Monstruo.



Oh.

So, there were no flowers after all.

**Author's Note:**

> *SHRUGS*


End file.
